“Not now, Lord Hetepheret,” Aeson says grimly, with the faintest nod, advancing so that the man has to step aside.
“It is imperative we see you soon at the next IEC session,” the woman says in a strong voice used to command.
“Yes, Dame Tammuz,” Aeson says with barely a glance in her direction. “I understand. I will be there.” And he keeps going.
Next we pass a cluster of bejeweled ladies, and they coo and laugh together, then separate before us like a flock of creatures that are part fanciful peacocks and part clucking hens. And suddenly I see Lady Tiri.
Tirinea Fuorai, in a magnificent dress of mauve and rose encrusted with pale crystals, stands next to a proud heavyset older man wearing a layered dark robe of rich earth-shades embroidered with gold. I assume it is her father Lord Fuorai, or some other relative, because there is a vague resemblance in the handsome features of the older man—who incidentally gives Aeson a cold, displeased look.
Seeing Aeson and myself, Lady Tiri turns slightly and curtseys elegantly to the Imperial Crown Prince, and barely deigns to give a faint nod to me. Her beautiful face has a mesmerizing smile, which she directs at Aeson full-force.
Aeson nods curtly at her, without changing his grim expression, and continues walking forward.
But as he passes, Lady Tiri glances at me, and this time her smile has a different intent. Her face transforms, and she throws me a triumphant look of disdain. I have won after all, her look seems to taunt me.
I blink and look away from her, as we pass the red tiles section into Middle Court where more nobles acknowledge the Imperial Crown Prince and his Bride with bows, curtseys, and curious stares at me.
Finally, we come to the rear of the chamber and see familiar faces in the Low Court section. There’s Gracie in her blue dress finery, with a childish frightened face, who exclaims and waves to me the moment she sees me. Next to her are Consul Denu and Gordie, both very serious, and Gordie is frowning.
“This is bad, Gee Two, really bad,” Gordie says, immediately stepping forward.
“Gwen!” my sister cries out, and rushes toward me. “Oh, my God, what’s going to happen now? What was that? What does it mean?”
Meanwhile Consul Denu nods and bows very briefly to Aeson, with a quick grave look at me. “Unprecedented development, My Imperial Lord,” he says softly.
Aeson stops, glancing around us to scan the crowd in the vicinity, looking for someone, so that Gracie has the chance to grab my arm and throw herself at me while I let her, standing still like a puppet who has lost her strings. Manala stands right next to us, tugging at the folds of her glittering dress with nervous helplessness.
“Consul, where is Xelio Vekahat? Have you seen him?” Aeson’s hard voice sends chills along my skin.
“My Imperial Lord must realize it is not his fault, and young Vekahat is not accountable for—”
“We’ll see about that!” Aeson interrupts.
And then he sees Oalla, Keruvat, and Xelio, and releases my hand, moving toward them.
My heart plunges with new fear, and my pulse that’s been hammering goes into overdrive.
I extricate myself from Gracie’s shaking hold on my other arm and, with a glance at Manala, hurry after Aeson before something terrible happens.
But Xelio sees us, and approaches directly.
“Xelio Vekahat, with whom have you been talking?” Aeson says in a power voice like a hammer blow, so that Xel actually blinks as though physically touched.
“You know I would never do anything to harm her!” Xel replies with grim intensity. I notice his expression has the same terrifying shell-shocked look that I see in Aeson.
Aeson stops before him . . . so close that I’m afraid he is going to commit violence.
Xelio does not back down. He faces Aeson, and they stand eye-to-eye. . . . They are the same height, so well-matched.
“Explain yourself!” Aeson leans into the other young man’s face. His voice has gone soft, and so dangerous that I begin to tremble. Behind me I hear Manala’s faint gasp.
“I don’t know what happened!” Xel says. “I give you my word I have not been speaking with anyone about our training sessions except when relevant, and only mentioned it in casual conversation with the other daimon—Oalla, Keruvat, a few others, yourself included. Though, it hasn’t been a secret either, considering there’s nothing very remarkable about it! What’s such a big deal about training her? The girl has big aspirations, we all knew it—it has always been a great part of her charm—”
“Enough. Tell me exactly whose company you shared when this was mentioned so casually. What ‘few others?’”
Xel frowns, looking away, takes a deep breath, considering. “Damn . . . let me think. Erita was there, usually Ker and Oalla, possibly Nefir, Radanthet, Quoni—”
Aeson nods silently. “Very well,” he says. And then he glances at me.
“What does this mean?” I take this opportunity to step in between them. Both Aeson and Xel watch me with grave serious expressions. There is no interplay of humor left in either one of them, only a kind of subdued darkness.
I stare from one to the other, and at this point my heart is racing so fast I think I am going to explode.
“It means, Gwen, that one of our own has been informing to my Father and keeping him aware of all kinds of seemingly minor details about you—details that became useful to him in a way that allowed them to be used against you.”
“I am so sorry, My Imperial Lady,” Xel says gently. “None of this was in any way to be expected.”
“I understand . . .” I say. “And I don’t blame you, Xel. After all it was my choice all along to train. I was going to enter the Games—that was the original plan!”
But Aeson looks at me with a dangerous wild gaze. “It was never going to happen. I would’ve never allowed—”
“Look, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” I bite my lip and somehow find that my heart has ceased pounding as though it was going to jump out of my ribcage, and instead a new strange calm has come over me. I take a deep breath, seeing with my peripheral vision the Atlantean nobles all around listening in to our conversation, and watching me with curiosity and pity.
“So, I enter the Games,” I say in a firm voice, and with a little shrug.
Behind me I hear my sister Gracie’s exclamation, and Manala makes a sound also.
“No!” Aeson says, drawing his forehead into a deeper frown. And then he takes my hand again, and presses it so hard that my fingers feel crushing pain. “Come, I am taking you away from here, right now!”
And again we begin walking rapidly, without looking back at anyone, this time toward the Pharikoneon chamber exit.
Chapter 15
“Are we allowed to leave Court in the middle of an Assembly, just like that?” I say, as we exit the Pharikoneon Gates into the ante-chamber, and Aeson’s security detail attaches itself to us immediately.
“It no longer matters,” he tells me with a wild fierce glance, so that I’m momentarily reminded of how he had chosen me as his Imperial Consort, a similar impossible moment of rebellion. “My Father got what he wanted, he will not bother to notice or care what happens to you the rest of the evening.”
“Where are we going?”
“Back to our Quarters—for the moment.”
“Okay. . . .”
For the next few minutes we rush through the Palace, and I completely lose track of halls and corridors and levels, until we are in the now-familiar elevator leading to the Imperial Crown Prince’s floor. Once inside our Quarters, Aeson shuts the door and turns to me.
I see, in the soft evening illumination, that he is distraught. Aeson’s eyes are widened, pupils dilated. He is breathing fast and looking at me with such an impossible expression. If I didn’t know better, I would imagine he is shaking.
“Gwen—I am going to talk to him tomorrow . . .” he tells me, putting his hands on my upper arms, so that his fingers press firmly into my flesh. “Th
is is not over. I am not going to let him condemn you—”
“Aeson . . .” I interrupt gently, while my own breathing is surprisingly calm—maybe because of what I am about to do, lie to him, in order to calm him down. “I don’t know what just happened, and I am honestly not happy with it, but—for some reason I think it’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s what I thought I would be doing, and I realize that sounds a little crazy, but my mindset is all still focused on entering the Games. Even though my reasons are no longer there—I am to be a Citizen by marriage and my family on Earth will be rescued regardless—I am going to do this thing—”
“Stop! Listen to me!” He shakes me, speaking in a voice of desperate passion. “You will not be doing this insane thing! I will convince my Father first thing tomorrow, I will do whatever it takes to keep you out, and make him change his mind!”
“But what if you can’t? What if he refuses?”
Aeson’s expression is terrible. “No,” he says. “I will not allow either one of us to think this way, not now—”
He pulls me to him, hard and desperate, and buries his face in my neck. Eventually his lips find their way and press directly against the pulse in my throat. I make a small sound and melt into him at the touch. The raw intimacy of his hot breath warms my skin, and I feel fire rising inside me, a strange, gradual honey-flow of fire. . . .
“Nothing . . . im amrevu . . . nothing will happen to you . . . not ever . . . I promise.” His words come muffled against me, as his mouth covers every place along my skin there, his cheeks sweeping away the golden chains cascading from my hair, pressing against me as I drown. Soon, our hands reach out, our limbs come into play; we are now entwined, shuddering, breathing as one being. . . .
For several long minutes we lose track of time, of all things, in our mutual cocoon of safety and warmth. I’m grateful for this brief moment of respite from the fear that has been eating me since the Imperator announced his lethal gift to me. Truly, I am.
But it’s only a moment. I realize that, for once, Aeson cannot promise me this thing—it is beyond his control. He is either lying mercifully to me or deluding himself. And I have just lied to him, told him I am okay with it, that I am ready to enter the Games. Hah!
Gwen Lark, clumsy awful liar, face it, you are scared to death.
But at least my beloved, im amrevu, does not need to know it.
Eventually there’s a knock at the door and Gracie and Gordie arrive, followed by Consul Denu who is merely here to make sure they find their way here safely, before tactfully departing with a courtly bow.
Aeson and I pull ourselves together, and then we spend the rest of the evening talking to my siblings and Manala, who arrives soon after.
“What are you going to do?” Gracie keeps saying nervously, as we all settle in to talk in Aeson’s workroom that now feels like a comfortable familiar place.
“I don’t know, Gracie,” I reply with exhaustion, pacing slowly in the middle of the room.
“Nothing is settled,” Aeson says curtly as he sits brooding on the sofa next to Gordie who looks equally grim. “Tomorrow, I take care of it.”
“But what if Father does not change his mind?” Manala looks from him to me, biting her nails.
Aeson gives her a closed-off glance.
“Then I begin to train again,” I say bravely, putting on a calm front. Yeah, I know, I’m just bluffing, but this act is keeping me sane for the moment, keeping me from hyperventilating. . . . What else can I do?
“How bad are these Games anyway?” Gordie muses. “Okay, yeah, they’re lethal—stupid question—but is there more information I can look up? Maybe we can brainstorm some techniques to help you, Gee Two? I know they’re supposed to be all over the TV, and everyone in Poseidon has the Games fever or whatever they call it here—”
“Games Rage,” Manala corrects him with a shudder. “Grail Games Rage or GGR is what happens to the fans, causing all the city traffic, the gambling, merchandising, brawling and street fights, all the symptoms of the obsessive craze related to this horrid event.”
“Okay, Games Rage, right,” Gordie says. “So we learn more about it, we come up with solutions, things you can use to help you, Gee Two. . . . Hey, Manala, you have sports channels on your TV, right? What’s that thing again—Pre-Games Trials is happening now, right?”
Manala nods, blissfully ignoring Gordie’s protocol gaffe of calling her simply by her name. “Tomorrow you can watch it live on TV . . . if you must. Or you can watch the recordings of what happened earlier today.”
“Hey, I’d rather watch plants grow in Hydroponics,” Gordie quips, pushing up his glasses. “But, gotta help sis here.”
At some point, exhausted with nerves, we go to bed. Manala volunteers to take Gordie back to his guest apartment on a floor below, near her own Quarters. Aeson gives me one intense look and a forced smile, before shutting my bedroom door.
Gracie and I take off our fancy Court outfits without the help of any maid service (offered to us, and rejected politely). And then we crawl into the king-sized bed and hold hands for a while, tugging and twirling each other’s hair. I tweak Gracie’s nose and smile at her usual grimace reaction, her sighs and mutterings and nervous chatter, still maintaining my act.
Sleep comes eventually, and when I hear Gracie’s deep breathing, I allow myself to drop my act at last.
Silently, I lie next to her, sobbing in the dark.
In the morning I wake up later than usual, close to eighth hour. Gracie is in the shower, and my maid Aranit has come in silently, and readied some outfits for me.
I get up, feeling immediate pain in my gut, like knives cutting through me. For a moment I think it’s cramps, but then recall it’s not that time of the month. Yes, it’s all nerves and stress.
Gracie vacates the shower and I take my turn, then put on the most simple of the three outfits, again similar to an Earth jeans-and-sweater combo.
“You look really good, Gee Two! How are you feeling?” Gracie admires my new clothes at the same time as she carefully tries to gauge my mood. I notice she is back to wearing her everyday grey Fleet uniform.
“Thanks. . . .” I give her a little smile.
And then, hearing low voices, I peek into the workroom to see if anyone is there.
Anu and Gennio look up from their spots at the large desk, and their expressions are far more serious than what I’m used to.
Gennio gets up first and bows properly. “Nefero eos, My Imperial Lady Gwen.”
Anu gets up also, and bows sullenly, without saying anything.
“Nefero eos,” I reply. “Have you seen Aeson? Did he come out?”
Gennio and Anu exchange looks.
“Yeah, the CP left more than an hour ago to see the Imperator,” Anu says. “And he was in a scary bad mood. Said he’ll be back, and to tell you not to worry.”
“Okay.” For several moments I stand, in a kind of stupor, unsure of what to do with myself.
And then Gennio says, “We heard what happened last night. Very sorry . . . Imperial Lady Gwen.”
“Yeah, it sucks,” Anu adds with a brief awkward glance that avoids my eyes. “Don’t know what kind of Imperial Gift it’s supposed to be, but that was one rotten Kassiopei trick he played on you.”
“Anu . . . watch what you say,” Gennio corrects him.
Anu gives him a sour look.
“What am I going to do, guys?” I say.
Anu wrinkles his forehead. “You’re going to train like hell. You have no chance, of course, sorry to tell you this, but—”
“But at least you can try,” Gennio says.
“Yeah. . . .” I turn as my sister Gracie comes into the room. And then I return my attention back to the two Aides. “So the two of you seem to be fans of the Games. What can you tell me about them? I could use all the advice, ideas, and help I can get, right about now.”
Gennio looks somewhat embarrassed. “He’s a fan, I just watch for the numbers. Don’t really enjo
y the violence.”
Anu snorts. “Yeah, you do. Come on, man, that epic throwdown yesterday from Hedj Kukkait made you nuts!”
“Well, it was mostly how he did it, right in the face—”
I watch them get into it, and bite my lip. “Okay, sounds like you know tons about it, so you can help me out, maybe?”
“Oh, sure, of course!” Gennio says. “But—”
“How do you turn that hovering TV thing on?” Gracie says, heading for the pantry fridge.
“Well . . .” Gennio pauses. “We’re supposed to be working, but—”
“Yeah, I don’t think the Imperial Crown Prince is going to mind if you help his Bride with these Games of the Atlantis Grail so she can, like, not die, okay?” Gracie says.
So Anu sings a sequence to call up the wall TV panel.
A few minutes later, Manala shows up, with Gordie. “Got any breakfast around here? I mean, eos bread, sorry,” he says, as soon as they walk in, and we all look up from the TV where an arena Pre-Games Trials fight match is being shown between two combatants.
We’ve been watching this morning’s feed of the Pre-Games and various arena highlights from yesterday. “I am dead, so dead,” I keep muttering, seeing the intense skilled fighters, athletes, marathon runners, dancers, and other physically proficient individuals. “It’s official, I’m gonna die.”
My siblings give me sad, worried looks whenever I say it. Seeing their disturbed reactions, I realize how awful I’m being, and so I rein in my mouth. It’s only a stupid verbal nervous tick on my part, to help me cope, but by talking about death and dying I am being cluelessly inconsiderate to people who care about me.
“What was I thinking?” I continue, somewhat less explicitly. “You guys, all of you are right—this is like those huge global sports events on Earth. I remember Laronda telling me months ago how nuts I was to even consider competing.” I shake my head and laugh to myself, because it’s the other thing I do when I’m overwhelmed emotionally. I start laughing stupidly.
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